East Meets West: Tales from Apt 19
by Friku Honnefoy
Summary: The bizzare, touching, and humorous adventures of Kiku Honda and Francis Bonnefoy as they adapt to their new life as roommates. Rated T for gourmet cuisine, romance, awkward situations, mysterious Greek men, rotten tomatoes, and a blooming friendship.
1. Moving In

_Welcome to the adventures of Kiku Honda and Francis Bonnefoy as they adjust to new life as roommates, a collaboration series by two best friends with far too much time on their hands._  
_**In summary, you'll read about: **gourmet cuisine, break-ups, romance, awkwardness in random situations, cats, rotten tomatoes, new encounters, a blooming friendship, and much more._  
_**Rating:** T, just because it is. I highly doubt it'll go up, but if it does, oh well._  
_**Pairings: **FrancexSpain, Giripan, implied EnglandxAmerica, slight (until a certain point) Spamano, (friendship-wise) JapanxFrance, and (just plain fluffy) Franada._  
_Enjoyeth ~ ;D_

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**Episode 1: Moving In**

How the Japanese man came to live so far away from his home is still a mystery to him. Standing outside the "flashy" Frenchman's apartment, he banged his hands reluctantly on the large brass knockers of the door, and began rehearsing various lines he would use.

Kiku Honda was moving in with Francis Bonnefoy. He had a profound curiosity about the Western world, particularly Europe. When he had announced his request to explore and observe the European culture during the last World Conference, Francis had offered his home right away; seeing as most other countries had said they had no available room or that they were too busy for the time being. Kiku eagerly accepted his offer.

This brings us to where the Japanese man is now. Letting out a sigh, he made an attempt at knocking once more, just raising his arm and making a fist, when the door flung wide open, and the blonde Frenchman nearly tackled the smaller Japanese man in an attempt to hug him.

"_Bienvenue, mon cher Kiku!"_ he cried, lunging in for some sort of embrace. Kiku, unaccustomed to such forwardness, shoved his new roommate away forcefully, and began bowing deeply.

"Gomen nasai, gomen nasai. Please keep minimal physical contact between us!" he said. He didn't get much of a response from the Frenchman, and when he looked up, he realized just how strong he had pushed Francis away. Ceramic pieces were scattered about the floor, while water seeped through the carpet. Rushing into the room, Kiku noticed that Francis was holding a rose delicately, and with trembling fingers, to his chest. Few petals had been torn off.

"A-are you all right, Francis?" Kiku asked, crouching down carefully next to him. For one odd reason or another, he felt as if he shouldn't step on the fallen petals.

"My vase…my poor rose…"

"Sumimasen?"

"The very container that allowed my flower to thrive indoors…it's broken." Francis let out a sigh. Kiku wanted to point out to Francis that there were plenty rose bushes outside the complex, but figured the Frenchman was already aware.

"I promise I'll pay for the vase," the Japanese man said at last. Francis raised his shimmering blue eyes to meet Kiku's dark ones and chuckled, grinning brightly.

"No, no…don't worry about it. I have plenty of them in the storage room; I'm certain I'll find another," Francis assented. However, Kiku's face still betrayed worry.

"Are you sure? P-please, allow me. It was entirely my fault –"

"If anything, the fault is mine for not having considered the cultural differences. _Ne t'inquiète pas, Kiku._ Now, let's clean this mess up and get you settled in!" he reassured. He pushed himself from the ground and stood so that Kiku could finally let it sink in just how tall the Frenchman was. He knew that nearly everyone, excepting his family, was considerably to more of an advantage when it came to height, but Francis was taller than any other he'd encountered, though there was still only about four inches between them, at the most.

After Francis brought the dustpan over, Kiku remained silent and marveled at how gingerly he picked up every single one of the broken ceramic pieces and promptly disposed of them, as though he had done it a thousand times before.

"_Et, le voil__à__!"_ Francis declared with a clap of his hands. "Now, allow me to show you around your new home."

As they engaged in the "très bien tour", as Francis enjoyed calling it, Kiku tried his best to keep up with all the random blabbering of information he was being fed. The two passed through a long, dimly-lit hallway where the walls, of a creamy off-white color with green and gold fleur-de-lis patterns, were adorned with many impressive paintings. The Frenchman noticed Kiku eyeing them, and noted with a hint of pride in his voice,

"My little brother, Feliciano, made these for me. He's quite an amazing artist."

"Yes, I've noticed. They're lovely!"

Francis nodded as they turned the corner sharply.

"This is your bedroom. Mine is just across the hall, if you ever need me,"

Kiku nodded and opened the door as Francis stood behind him, waiting.

"I hope it isn't too...uncomfortable for you. This apartment only came with two bedrooms, and I didn't want to subject you to sharing a room with me, so…"

"No, no. It's just right. Thank you," Kiku replied. In fact, it was much _more_ than just right – it was magnificent! Kiku could not believe how spacious it was compared to the room he had back home, and only a standard one, as well. The walls were an elegant pale blue, with thin white stripes stretching all around. There was a window with a small balcony, overlooking the busy Paris streets, a light wooden desk, a matching dresser, a walk-in closet, and a bookshelf with only about four books actually within it. Francis had probably left the rest for Kiku to fill, he figured.

But perhaps the greatest installment of all was the giant and insanely gorgeous bed on the far left side of the room, which was clearly unlike the futon that the Japanese man was used to. The bedspreads were all a pure, ivory white, with tiny golden flowers patterned neatly around the edges. The many pillows were much the same, but somehow still very essential to the overall presentation. Kiku saw that they had been monogrammed for him, a large cursive "K" on each one, the fact that the Frenchman had taken him into such consideration making him blush slightly.

"F-Francis, it's stunning." He whispered.

Francis grinned.

"Good. I'll be in the kitchen. Meanwhile, feel free to make yourself at home."

Once the Frenchman had left, Kiku gave a small sigh, put down his bags, and let himself test out his new bed. Unlike the futon he owned and slept on in Japan, this mattress was big, and very thick; but above all, extremely soft. He bounced on it a little and felt the springs within the mattress bouncing underneath with him. A small smile made its way to his lips and he, eventually, stood up and began unpacking.

The closet was no mystery to him. Hangers and shelves for his clothing had already been placed for him; Kiku would be sure to thank Francis for that later (and everything, it seemed). Hanging his shirts, pants, and kimonos; folding his undershirts and underwear, the Japanese man worked diligently and quietly, absorbed in his thoughts. Afterwards, he moved to the desk, which was finally covered with perfectly aligned papers, pens, and ink brushes, while he then filled the bookshelves with his favorite literature (nothing X-rated, mind you.)

A loud knock on the door snapped him from his tasks, and he looked up from where he had been getting out the last of his belongings.

"Hai?" he called out.

Francis entered his room cautiously.

"I see that you've settled in," he remarked.

"Ah, yes. Just about."

"Splendid. Come, dinner is ready!"

Having re-entered the illustrious kitchen, Francis gathered two glasses (of the likes Kiku had never seen in real life, only through the media), and poured an unfamiliar dark red liquid into both of them from a large, equally dark bottle.

"I-is that wine?" Kiku asked with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yes. It is a vintage Bergerac Merlot, the pride of southwestern France. And we," Francis explained, swishing the wine around in the glass in order to aerate it, "are celebrating your first night here, as my new official roommate!"

Kiku accepted the glass hesitantly and slowly put his nose to the edge, taking in the scent. It was strong. Very strong.

"Now, you haven't had wine before, have you, Kiku?"

He shook his head in the negative.

"That's what I thought. Now, I chose this kind of wine for that specific reason. Merlot is known for being the mildest of all wines, so it is perfect for beginning drinkers. I would not wish to overwhelm you on your first night here." The Frenchman replied.

Kiku felt a warmth invade his body, and he had not even taken a sip of the alcohol yet. Again, he found himself touched that Francis thought of him and his feelings so much, and appreciated all that had been done for him up to this point.

Francis now took hold of his own glass and swirled the burgundy contents.

"Would you like me to demonstrate?" he posed.

"Please, yes."

Francis gracefully brought the glass to his lips and took a large sip, much like the way Kiku would have had it been green tea, though not completely emptying it.

Kiku mimicked Francis' movements and felt the Frenchman's eyes on him as he himself slowly took a sip, feeling the slightly bitter red liquid traveling down his throat. It was only the initial taste, however. After a few seconds, feeling it linger on his tongue, Kiku could taste a vague, grapey sweetness replacing the bitterness.

"So? How is it?" Francis asked. There was something strangely seductive in the way he held his own wine glass between his slender fingers.

It took the Japanese man a few, long moments, but he ultimately nodded in agreement, and pulled out a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. While he began taking notes, he responded,

"It's a very interesting taste. It may take some time for me to get used to, but I think I may grow to like it."

Francis' satisfaction showed in his crystalline eyes, and he nodded understandingly.

"And now, the food." He announced, almost imperiously. Kiku beamed.

"Fantastic! The last thing I ate was the assorted fish plate they served on the plane." He was obviously eager to be having a meal once more. Francis moved about the kitchen, gathering the dishes and placing them on the previously-set dining table. Kiku seated himself, and waited patiently for Francis to explain, putting away his notebook out of propriety.

"I have prepared for us _foie gras_ in _cocotte jus_, cut, spiced potatoes, and to end, a little _crème brûlée_ with _caf__é au lait_," Kiku gave a look as though he understood, but had really barely taken in a word of what the Frenchman had said. He watched in marked curiosity as Francis unveiled this new array of dishes. The portions, he noticed, were larger, but not at all monstrous or inedible like those he had seen in America.

"What is foie gras?" he asked.

"Duck liver – cooked and slightly fattened, _mon cher._ It's rich, buttery, and a very popular delicacy in France," Francis explained.

Knife and fork in hand, Kiku sliced a good-sized bite from his entrée and ate it slowly, savouring the foreign, but miraculous flavors that erupted within his mouth. He moved on to the potatoes, and then alternated between the two for a few good minutes before raising his eyes to meet those of Francis.

"It's absolutely delicious," he declared, smiling graciously at the chef, who ate sitting across the table from him.

"I'm very pleased you think so! I was hoping everything would be to your liking. You seemed hungry."

"Mm," Kiku hummed in agreement. Francis grinned and took another large sip of the merlot.

"You're quite adorable, I have to admit," he muttered, almost to himself. Kiku's face flushed nearly the same shade of red as the wine. He'd overheard.

"N-nani?"

The Frenchman shook his head in dismissal.

"Nothing, _mon ami_. Nothing."

Kiku finished up his entrees soon enough. Afterwards, the dessert was just as, if not even more, pleasing.

"Arigatou gozaimasu, Francis. I enjoyed everything."

"Good. It would do you well to head to bed now. You must have had an exhausting trip," The Frenchman recommended with concern. The Japanese man merely smiled, bowed, and exited the room.

Kiku lay on his new bed, a light kimono on his body. He gave a content sigh and turned toward the bedside table. There was a lamp in the corner, and he had left the book he was reading next to him. He let his mind wander to all the new, fascinating things he would learn about the French culture while he was here, for however long he chose. Taking his notepad from the drawer, he reviewed his notes a few times.

His notes were neat, and he had written entirely in his native language. It's not like he was uncomfortable writing in English – his English had to be impeccable, and it _was_, as it was the only language he and the other countries shared in common – but he just preferred to write them that way. It felt more organized.

Feeling a slight burning from fatigue in the back of his eyes, Kiku put the notepad away and reached to turn off the light when Francis knocked lightly upon the door, and let his head in through the crack.

"Kiku?" he said, as the Japanese man sat up in bed and cocked his head to the side.

"Konbanwa, Francis. Did you…need anything?"

Francis shook his head.

"Not in particular. I just wanted to say, _bonne nuit._ And sweet dreams,"

Kiku smiled fully, though his face betrayed his drowsiness.

"Thank you. Oyasumi nasai." He replied, as Francis took his leave and closed the door quietly behind him.

Kiku lay down once more, turned off the light, and drifted off into a world of peaceful reverie. A world he knew well.

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**A/N:** _Please review~! We apologize for the lengthiness. Honest, we tried to shorten it down without leaving any of the essence out. It'll get more interesting as each chapter comes. We'll update soon!_


	2. Rotten Tomatoes

_We're backkkkkkkkk! With the second installment of East Meets West. Hope you enjoy. Please review (;_

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**Episode Two : Rotten Tomatoes**

The next morning, Kiku awoke to the sweet, savory smell of something…something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, it smelled delightful. Francis stood in the kitchen, preparing one of his favorite breakfast meals for his new Japanese roommate to try. Sunlight poured in bright streams through the open windows which helped with the ventilation only slightly; the aroma wafting slowly through the air. It glistened upon his long blonde hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail. As he cooked, Francis sung to himself an old favorite song of his –

_~ Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effrondrer_

_Et la terre peut bien s'écrouler_

_Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes_

_Je me fou du monde entire… ~_

A soft smile curved on his lips as he did so. Kiku, slowly crawling out of bed and exiting the room, followed the scents and sounds the Frenchman was producing. Francis' smile widened even further when he saw the Asian man enter, whose eyes were large with curiosity.

"Bonjour, mon cher japonais~!" Francis chimed.

"Ohayou gozaimasu, Francis," Kiku replied.

"How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you." He breathed in the intoxicating air surrounding him. Francis noticed the way Kiku eyed the food with marked interest and grinned.

"I made you breakfast!"

Kiku nodded. "Yes, it looks wonderful. What is it?"

"This is called _croque monsieur_," Francis transferred the food onto a shiny, cream-colored plate and lightly peppered it as he explained. "It is, basically, a sandwich with eggs, and other spices, and ham, but the cheese is melted over the top of the bread, instead of packed inside. Et…le voilà!" He handed Kiku the plate, who accepted it graciously.

He cautiously brought the _croque monsieur_ to his lips and took a small bite. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he liked it very much.

"It's delicious, Francis! Your cooking is truly quite amazing. I have only ever known the world of Asian cuisine, but I'm becoming continually more fond of that of Europe."

Francis bowed his head. "Merci. It can grow rather tiresome, having the same kinds of things day after day. You know, I'd really love to try Japanese food; you should cook for me sometime soon,"

"Hai, it would be an honor. In fact, what about today?"

Francis nearly jumped with excitement.

"Yes, yes! I'd love that!" he agreed immediately. Kiku's face brighted at the opportunity.

"All right. I'll need to go to the market after breakfast, then, to purchase all the ingredients and things I'll need."

"Of course,"

"What time do they open?"

"Eight o'clock, I believe. And right now it is…." He glanced at the bright yellow clock on the wall, "Eight-thirty. Good. I think you should be fine."

"Thank you."

After Kiku had finished breakfast, during which he and Francis had a brief chat about how the markets are in their countries, he bathed, dressed, and left the apartment around five minutes after nine. With him, he carried his notepad and 100 euros that Francis had given him for his shopping.

At least an hour after Kiku had left, Francis went outside to his small, but flourishing garden in front of the apartment building. With him, he had brought his large silver watering can, and promptly began attending to his many different flowers – which were lilies and roses, for the most part – of all various sizes and colors. So delicately, yet with such fierce dedication and care did he water and nurture them, even speaking in soft tones to them. He continued the song he had been singing earlier that morning, smiling pleasantly to himself in calm contentment.

_~ J'irai jusqu'au bout du monde_

_Je me ferais teindre enblonde_

_Si tu me le demandais…_

_J'irai décrocher la lune_

_J'irais voler la fortune_

_Si tu me le demandais…~ _

Suddenly, his chanson was interrupted.

"H-hola, Francis," came a familiar voice from behind him.

Francis quickly turned around to a pair of emerald green eyes, short, dark brown hair, beautifully tanned skin, and an anxious expression that replaced the usually joyful and bright one he had come to know.

"Oh. Hello, Antonio. Comment tu vas?" Francis responded, slightly worried. Antonio looked nervously about himself, then straight at the Frenchman in a near pleading manner.

"Francis," he began, stuttering, instead of answering the question asked him, "I need to…t-to…"

He trailed off, hands trembling and voice cracking. Francis immediately set the watering can down next to the front steps and rushed to the Spaniard's side, wrapping his arms over his shoulders.

"Shh, shhh. Come on, let's go inside…" he cooed, as they entered the apartment. Francis closed and locked the door behind them as Antonio seated himself at the dining table without a word. Francis leaned over him and asked,

"Would you like anything? Wine? Tea? Water?"

"Water, please," the Spaniard replied. Francis strode into the kitchen and prepared him a glass of cool, clear water. Antonio sighed.

"Gracias, Francis."

"Je t'en prie," the Frenchman seated himself next to him. "Now, what happened, mon cher?"

Antonio took a large gulp of water before deciding to speak.

"Romano and I are…_over_," he said at last, inhaling sharply as he fought back the tears that wanted to be released from behind his eyes. Francis' heart jumped at the shocking news, though not from displeasure. However, he pressed his hand on the Spaniard's and stroked it gently in an attempt to comfort him.

"Mon dieu! I cannot believe this; it's terrible!" he cried. Antonio nodded in sad agreement, and finally, a hot tear escaped his eye and his lips quivered. Francis' grasp on his hand tightened.

"Pourquoi…why did this happen, Toni?"

"I'm not really even sure…I-I suppose I saw it coming, both of us did. I would always try to do the best for us. I stayed with Romano, even though he was often difficult and tried to push me away. A-and he continually told me that he loved me, but I don't think he ever made an effort in our relationship. He was always irritable, and would snap at me when all I wanted was a kiss, or to talk with him…I suppose…" he heaved a giant sigh, and took another sip, "I was just fed up, because nothing – nada – was ever enough for him."

At this, he began to sob uncontrollably, lowering his head so close to the table's surface that Francis had to cup his other hand beneath his chin so Antonio would not hit his head. Feigned compassion shone in his crystal blue eyes, and he shifted his seat to take the distraught Spaniard into a firm, yet gentle embrace. For what seemed like an hour, the two merely saw there as Francis held the other close.

"I'm so sorry, Toni. This should not have happened," Francis whispered, though he was secretly relieved that it did.

The Frenchman had never liked Romano, and had particularly hated the fact that he was with Antonio, as he had so long desired the Spaniard himself. For the longest time, Francis had been infatuated with Antonio, though he never admitted it to anyone, and despite his promiscuous lifestyle, he knew better than to interfere in Antonio's relationship with Romano Vargas. He also inwardly knew that they wouldn't last very long at all; the ornery Italian's fiery, temperamental attitude would eventually cause it all to crumble, he thought. Antonio was better off without him.

Still, it pained him to see his dear friend in such distress.

As Antonio gradually started to calm down, Francis smiled and sighed, continuing to rub Antonio's back comfortingly. He breathed in the Spaniard's sweet, remarkable scent…a mixture of sunlight, tomatoes (of course), fresh linen, and amaryllis flowers. They all combined to create a delectable sensation that was just pure Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and Francis inhaled it all with sheer delight.

Eventually, the Spaniard's crying had ceased and Francis gently wiped the last few tears from his face as he sat up straight in the chair. He grinned.

"Ça va, mon ami?" he posed. Antonio raised his head and gave a small smile of his own, nodding.

"Si, si…It was bound to happen, anyway."

"Ah, I see. May I ask when this occurred?"

"Just last evening, sometime after midnight. And I – I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, so I should probably be on my way now," Antonio replied, making a move to get up from his chair, but Francis quickly interjected.

"Oh, no, no! You can stay here, Antonio. I'll make something for you; anything you want. _Mon pauvre espagnol_, you must be starving –"

"I'm fine, really, Francis. Just…something light, perhaps. That's all I need."

His eyes were rimmed with red and looked incredibly worn out from all the tears he had spilled, but he seemed to have regained his usually cheery spirit back, which pleased the Frenchman greatly.

"As you wish," he said, heading once more into the kitchen. He had been spending a lot of time in there this week, he noticed.

Antonio watched from the side in immense interest as Francis prepared fresh crêpes with berries and a light drizzling of honey. He seemed absolutely transfixed when he heard the Frenchman resume the melody he had been singing outside, and earlier that morning.

_~ Nous aurons pour nous l'éternité,_

_Dans le bleu de toute l'immensité_

_Dans le ciel, plus de problems…_

_Mon amour, crois-tu qu'on s'aime? ~_

He noticed that Francis shot a peculiar glance at him when the words "mon amour" escaped his lips, and felt an odd sensation settle in his chest. He sat in silence, hearing nothing else but the voice of Francis Bonnefoy resonating in his ears.

The two did nothing but sit and talk for hours on end: reminiscing, teasing, and laughing until they could no longer breathe. At long last, it was time for Antonio to leave. Exiting the front door with Francis behind him, he stopped on the top step and turned around to face him.

"Thank you for everything, Francis."

Francis placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, Toni. Anytime you need it. I hope you feel better soon! Please, try not to dwell on all that negative energy,"

"It's all right. I feel better already," the Spaniard opined with a grin.

They leaned in to exchange brief kisses on each cheek, as was the custom for friends and relatives in Europe. Antonio turned and descended the steps.

"See you soon, amigo!" he said with a wave.

"À bientôt!" Francis called after him. He watched the other cross the street and eventually disappear completely from view before he went back inside the apartment. He stood a moment without moving, and licked his lips hungrily, taking in the lingering taste of the Spaniard's soft skin.

"Carriedo…" he whispered to himself, almost inaudibly.

Suddenly, the door opened behind him and he leaped back, startled.

"Kiku, you're home!"

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**A/N:** _I apologize to any Spamano supporters, BUT CHANGE IS GOOD, RIGHT? xD_

The song that Francis keeps singing is called "Hymne à l'amour", by Josh Groban, although he isn't the original artist. I dunno who is, so I'm using him ^^

_I don't think translations are necessary, because you can basically figure out what they're saying if you pay attention to the surrounding words and phrases._  
_If you disagree, please say so in the reviews._  
_OH YEAH. ALSO, _  
_Please review, and we'll love you forever! ;D_


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